R is also for Retrograde
by WriterJC
Summary: Sometimes it is the things that you don't remember that are the truest test of a friendship.
1. Chapter 1

R is also for Retrograde

Summary: Sometimes it's the things that you don't remember that are the truest test of a friendship. Written for Round 2 of the ABC challenge.

By WriterJC

**Part One**

Officer Meredith Jefferson Blake wondered why he was being punished. His, thus far, nine year tenure with the Los Angeles Police Department had been beyond reproach. He was a reasonable and conscientious officer who did his job without much complaint. So he couldn't figure out how it was that he ended up saddled with one of the worst rookies to ever be graduated by the academy. For the first few hours of his shift, he kept waiting for someone to jump our and yell 'Surprise! You're on candid camera!'.

By the time they received a suspicious activity report through Dispatch just before 0330, Blake wasn't holding out much hope that the crash course in common sense he'd tried to give newly-minted Officer Jones was going to take any time soon.

So as he pulled the patrol car to a stop behind the too-still LACoFD Rescue Squad, he hoped fervently that the uneasily feeling that crawled across his spine didn't mean that there was going to be trouble.

He carefully took in the scene, trying to pin down what exactly was bothering him. He could hear the muted sounds of late night traffic moving along Johnson Street up above them. That seemed normal. The patrol car's headlights didn't do a lot to illuminate the area on the service road where they had pulled up, but they clearly reflected against the gold 51 emblazoned across the back of the squad. Beyond that, nothing else moved or looked out of place.

"What are we gonna do?" Jones piped up in a loud whisper.

Blake refused to look at him. Just the excitement in the younger man's voice made him sound more like an over anxious puppy than an office of the law. It was an irritation against Blake's deliberate assessment of the area. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the kid had paid any attention at all at the academy.

Taking a couple additional moments to make sure that no one was hiding in the brush on the driver's side of the squad, Blake opened the door and got out.

Jones followed suit. He'd introduced himself as Pinny, short for Pinton. Blake thought that was a ridiculous name and refused to call him that. "Stay alert, Jones."

"This door over here is open," the kid announced, pointing toward the passenger side of the fire department vehicle. "I think I see someone's feet sticking out."

Blake gestured that they should switch sides, directing that Jones should stay back along the driver's side of the vehicle. The last thing he needed was to get caught in the crossfire if things went south.

"Police Department. Do you need some help?" Blake called, resting a hand on his revolver as he drew to a stop several yards back from the passenger side of the squad. Just as Jones said, a pair of legs wearing bunker pants was sticking out of the vehicle. The legs weren't moving.

He started forward until he was within a few paces of the open door. "Everything OK in there?" he called again. The inner portion of the cab was lost in shadow as was the rest of the man's body, but the guys legs were starting to move. He thought he caught a disoriented groan.

Taking a step back, he made eye contact with Jones. "Check around. See if you see anyone else." These guys usually worked in twos.

Unclipping the flashlight from his belt, he moved back toward the squad. Whoever was in there sounded like he might need some help. Though the man was moving around with more purpose, his motions were uncoordinated.

Something caught in the flashlight beam that made Blake's blood run cold. Nine years of experience kicked in and his reaction was automatic.

"Freeze! Don't move!"

Things happened pretty fast after that. As if Blake's current situation wasn't enough to deal with, Jones started yelling something about blood on the ground. Jones' yelling took on a new tone as it mingled with the unmistakable sound of someone tumbling through overgrown brush.

Blake barely had time to figure out how to deal with one mess before he had another on his hands.

A/N: Okay, so I've nervously begun posting my second story in this fandom. More will be added tomorrow. Thanks to all who've taken the time to read. Comments welcomed, publicly or privately.


	2. Chapter 2

_Engine 51. Squad 36 in place of Squad 51. Unknown type rescue beneath the Johnson Street overpass, on the service road. Police are at the scene. Unknown type rescue beneath the Johnson Street overpass, on the service road. Time out 0335. _

There were few things worse than a 3:30 am call out – except maybe a 3:30 am call out to an unknown type rescue with paramedics that were likely to be five to ten minutes behind the engine. Hank could only hope that the victim – or victims – could wait that long.

Hank himself had acknowledged the difficulty breathing call that had pulled Gage and DeSoto out of the station just after 2 am. Before the medics were even completely out of the dorm, he had fallen back into his bunk, fast asleep.

When the tones sounded for the engine an hour and half later, he was hardly surprised that John and Roy hadn't returned. It wouldn't be the first time the squad went from one call to the next in the middle of the night, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

As Mike wheeled Big Red out of the bay doors, sirens blaring, LA made contact again. "Engine 51, be advised Squad 51 has been found at the scene."

Hank blinked. "LA, Engine 51. Please repeat." He held the radio near his mouth waiting for the reply.

"Engine 51, LA repeating. Squad 51 has been found at the scene, beneath theJohnson Streetoverpass."

Hank frowned. Maybe it was late and he was having comprehension issues. "LA, will Squad 51 will be assisting in place of Squad 36?"

"Negative, Engine 51."

Hank shared a worried look with his engineer before responding. "Ten-four."

"LA clear."

Hank replaced the radio more firmly than was necessary. "Engine 51, _unclear_," he muttered, sharing a look with Stoker.

"Cap, what's going on?" Chet's voice sounded over the noise of the sirens.

Hank turned to meet the concerned gazes of his two linemen. Unfortunately the rank of Captain didn't come with psychic abilities. "You know as much as I do at the moment, Pal."

And that was a fact that irked him more than anything. How could Squad 51 be found if he had never been informed that it was lost? These were his men; he was responsible for them. Knowing that they might have been in trouble while he was at the station sleeping soundly made him feel more than a little uncomfortable.

By the time Mike eased the engine onto the gravel service road that ran beneath Johnson Street, Hank had decided not to borrow trouble. There wasn't any point in thinking up terrible scenarios of why the squad would be found at a scene. He could only deal with things as they came. And now that they were there, he was ready to start dealing.

"Pull up over there, Michael," he directed as the engine rolled past two police cruisers which were parked off to one side of the unpaved road.

The squad sat in the semi – circle formed by the two cruisers. Unlike the other vehicles, it was completely dark, no lights showing of any kind. It was stopped haphazardly near a bunch of brush on the far side of the service road where it curved out away from the cement underpinnings ofJohnson Street.

A knot of shadowy forms stood in the reflected red light beyond the squad. They all turned as the engine approached. One of the men broke away and started toward the engine.

"I don't see Johnny or Roy, Cap," Chet's voice was heavy with worry. "You think they're somewhere rescuing the victim?"

"That's what I'm about to find out…" he murmured as he stepped down from the vehicle to meet the approaching officer.

"What've we got?" Hank asked, wasting no time.

The serious-faced officer who approached him looked from the engine to the squad, then back to Hank, seeming to draw conclusions in an instant. "We've got two men over the side," he gestured toward the other officers. "And there's another one in the cruiser that probably belongs to you." He jerked his head in the direction of one of the police cars. "Depending on the outcome of the rest of it, he might have to come downtown."

Hank turned to the men standing behind him. "Chet, Marco, get some rope. Check it out, would you?" He barely registered the sounds of running feet as the two lineman rushed to follow his orders. "Mike. Get 'em some light."

Hank frowned in the direction of the black and white police car. He'd missed it before, but realized that there was a shadowy form leaning against the back window of the farthest cruiser. From a distance in the dark, he couldn't tell if it was John or Roy.

He tried to tamp down the dread that threatened as he refocused on the officer in front of him. A nameplate over his uniform pocket stated that he was M. Blake. "Ambulance on the way?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Officer Blake, that Squad belongs to my station. The men who left the station two hours ago driving it are my paramedics. I need to know what happened here."

Blake nodded thoughtfully. "We were following up on a report of suspicious activity. When we got here, we found your man. He had a gun. Further investigation also revealed a bullet hole in the side of your squad. It didn't happen to leave the station that way, did it Cap?"


	3. Chapter 3

Previously:

_Blake nodded thoughtfully. "We were following up on a report of suspicious activity. When we got here, we found your man. He had a gun. Further investigation also revealed a bullet hole in the side of your squad. It didn't happen to leave the station that way, did it Cap?"_

**Part Three**

Hank mentally tripped over Blake's statements. "What? Who had a gun?"

"Your man." Blake gestured again toward the police cruiser.

Hank started for the car. "Are you sure he's one of mine?" Nowhere in his wildest imagination could he picture either John or Roy carrying a gun while on duty, much less shooting up the squad. Blake had it wrong. That was all there was to it.

"He was wearing the uniform." Blake made it sound as if no other evidence was needed. "After we got to him, we noticed blood on the ground on the other side of your rescue squad. Some of it is in the brush, too. There's a trail of it that goes off over the embankment." Blake's tone changed. "An officer slipped trying to check it out."

Hank paused at that. "The second victim is one of the responding officers?"

"Rookie."

Hank nodded, understanding. Sometimes things like that happened. "Was he able to check out the other man who went over?"

Blake shook his head. "The other guy is farther down. I told Jones – the rookie – to stay put before he broke his other leg."

Hank swallowed his disappointment. He would have liked to have had some idea of the status of the other victim, but he couldn't disagree with the gist of the advice Blake had given to an already injured rookie officer. Anything else he might have said was lost when his eyes settled on the dark head leaning against the car's rear window. He knew that unruly mop anywhere.

"John." From Hank's angle of approach Gage looked peaceful, as if he was enjoying an afternoon nap. That image sent several unexpected emotions running through him almost on top of each other, the one that won out was anger. Not thinking, he grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.

John slumped bonelessly outward into open air and Hank had to react quickly to keep him from tumbling to the ground. He helped him settled back against the seat so that he could regain his bearings.

What had appeared to be quiet slumber was something else entirely. Dark circles were forming beneath his eyes and it was clear that at some point since their last call out, John Gage had been involved in a knock-down drag-out fight.

His nose had been bloodied. Remnants of it were smeared along the side of his face and across the back of his right forearm. His once-white tee shirt was peppered with dried blood, dirt and worse. His bunker pants hadn't fared much better; they looked as if he had been rolling around on the ground.

"Cap?" John settled a confused look on him. The confusion deepened into an outright frown as he squinted at his surroundings. It was obvious he had one heck of a headache. "What happened?"

Hank's anger dissipated in an instant. "What do you remember?" he asked.

He didn't think John realized that he was rubbing a hand along his temple as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Um … 'member me and Roy coming back from that man down call round ten o' clock." He looked around, trying to see beyond the back seat of the police car. It didn't take long for his gaze to find the Squad several yards away.

"Where's Roy?"

Hank met the younger man's gaze. There had been two other runs for the squad since the ten o' clock call out. And the truth was, at that precise moment, Hank couldn't be sure where Roy was.

"Cap?" John's expression changed in stages from mild curiosity to concern to growing fear.

"John . . . ." Hank grimaced not sure what he could say.

"Cap! We found Roy! They're bringing him up now!" Hank jerked at the sound of Mike's voice. At least he had the answer to one question, while creating a whole new set.

He stood from his stooped position beside the patrol car so that he could have a better view of the area where the rescue operation was taking place. He could see some of the policemen providing manpower in pulling someone up the side.

He turned to find that John pushing at him as he tried to make his way out of the back of the police car.

"Whoa, wait a minute, pal. I'm going to go check on him. You should wait here a minute. You're not looking so good."

"Cap, I don't see any other paramedics out here. If he's hurt he's going to need my help." John's argument was reasonable.

"Alright. Come on." Squad 36 wasn't there yet, and minutes counted when lives were at stake.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea." Blake moved to block their path. "We still haven't gotten a statement as to what happened here."

Hank pierced the policeman with a look. "Is he under arrest?" he demanded. Hank didn't know all of the legal rules that applied to this situation, but he had a strong feeling that the lack of handcuffs meant that John had not been arrested. From the looks of things, John didn't even remember being placed in the police car in the first place.

"Well, no," Blake admitted. "Not technically. But he also hasn't been cleared yet."

"Where do you think he's going?" Hank wanted to know. "Except maybe a hospital?"

Blake still looked hesitant.

This time it was Chet's voice and running foot steps that rang out across the vehicles.

"Cap, we've gotta do something! Roy's been shot!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

Chet skidded to a halt, just beyond the rear of the squad, surprised at the scene before him. Cap and Gage were moving toward him, but the patrol officer looked like he wanted to hold them back. Cap said something that Chet couldn't hear and then he and Johnny were headed toward the squad.

It was obvious that he'd stumbled into the middle of something, but before his brain could even begin to form the questions, he got his second shock. Third if you counted the fact that Johnny was even still all the way over here when there were victims who needed help; one of them Roy. The John Gage he knew would have been beside his partner in a second.

But it wasn't often that the John Gage he knew looked like the man he saw alongside Cap. Dollars to doughnuts, Gage was going to need a medic himself before the night was over.

Chet met Cap's gaze in askance. The slight shake of the older man's head made it clear that now was not the time for questions.

Shaking himself from his momentary stupor, he took the two steps that brought him back to the squad's storage compartments and grabbed the trauma box, drug box and a splint – all things he thought would be needed to treat the two downed men. He was running out of hands when Cap reached in around him and grabbed the biophone and cardiac monitor.

The equipment was rearranged between the three of them as they made their way toward the drop off. In the short distance, several very pressing questions rushed to the fore of Chet's mind. Like, Why was Roy laying on the ground, bleeding from a gun shot wound? And why did Johnny look like he had gone a couple rounds with the middle weight champion of the world?

"Kelly." Cap spoke softly and shot a glare in his direction.

He hadn't even said anything, yet! How had the man known? Chet snapped his mouth shut and kept moving. He knew a warning when he heard one.

Edging around the cluster of men, he placed the equipment where it would be within reach, but not in the way.

Marco scooted back a little so that Johnny could ease in beside Roy, but he kept a hand pressed beneath the top left side of DeSoto's turnout coat. The ragged hole where the bullet had gone in just looked ... wrong ... against the background of dried blood.

Johnny settled quickly to the ground, setting aside the cardiac monitor and other items that he had been carrying, looked toward Roy and froze. For a fraction of a second, it seemed as if he didn't know what to do.

Chet could understand that. Just from what he could tell - Roy was bleeding from a gunshot wound to one shoulder and the other one didn't look quite right. His face was covered with several dozen lacerations from taking a header down the side of the drop-off through heavy brush and he had more than one bump his head.

But Johnny pulled himself out of it. To someone who didn't know that he usually moved a hundred miles a second, the hesitation would barely be noticeable. And then he was reaching toward Roy's wrist, taking his pulse and ordering everyone around. It was music to Chet's ears.

"What have you got, Mike?" Johnny shot a brief squinting look in the engineer's direction.

"Probable fracture in the left leg," Mike replied from his spot next to the unlucky policeman who had managed to fall over the side of the embankment. "Pulse is 75, respiration is 20."

"Chet - why don't you help him get a splint on it?"

"Sure thing, Johnny."

Gage moved on to checking Roy's respirations. "Cap, can you get Rampart on the line for me?" he asked.

"You got it," Cap responded, already setting up the antenna. "36's should be here any minute to give you a hand."

"You hurt any place else?" John's eyes settled back on the young policeman. The guy had to be a rookie. He was so new, Chet thought he could still smell the milk on his breath. He looked terrified.

"Did you hurt anything besides your leg?" John asked again, trying to capture the kid's attention.

Marco said something soft enough that Chet couldn't hear him, but he didn't need to. He figured Marco was telling Johnny what the officer had told them just before they'd pulled him up. He was afraid he was going to be kicked off the police force for being a klutz.

John grunted in response to Marco. Then, "You know I once hurt my knee when I tripped down a hill not all that different from this one. I'm sure Fireman Kelly would be glad to tell you the story when you're feeling better. Wouldn't you, Chet?"

Chet grinned. "Oh, that story and more," he assured the officer.

The kid looked around at the other officers standing nearby and seemed to relax a bit. "It really is just my leg," he said softly.

"Good." Johnny was the one who replied. "We'll get you all taken care of. Don't worry." Then, looking toward Marco, "How's the bleeding?"

Marco kept his hand in place. "Still sluggish."

Johnny frowned, but continued checking Roy over, listening to his lungs, feeling along his sides, checking his eyes, things they'd seen him do thousands of times. "Okay. Any sign of consciousness at all?"

Chet knew the answer to that one, but he listened while Marco explained it.

"He tried to come around when we first got to him, but then he was out again. Seemed like he was in a lot of pain."

Gage nodded and accepted the phone from Cap. "Rampart, this is Squad 51. We have two victims. Victim one is a male, approximately 30 years old. He has suffered a gun shot wound to the upper left quadrant, no apparent lung involvement. Bleeding is under control. Right shoulder is dislocated . . . ." He continued relaying the information on his two patients to the doctor on the other end.

About the time the ordered IV was in Roy and Johnny began working on the MS for the cop, Chet started to hear approaching sirens. It sounded like it was going to be a photo finish between Squad 36 and the ambulance.

"We're going to need to …" Johnny broke off abruptly when Roy began to move.

Johnny rushed back to his side. "Roy? Roy? Can you hear me?" He leaned in close, putting his ear near the oxygen mask trying to make out the words Roy was murmuring.

"Come on, partner. Are you with me? Open your eyes."

Roy let out a low moan, but didn't open his eyes.

Johnny kept at him. "Where do you hurt? Roy? Do you know what happened to you?"

Roy let out another moan which stretched into mumbled words that Chet couldn't make out. Then suddenly his eyes shot wide open.

"Johnny! Johnny! No!" His breaths started to come fast as he became more agitated. He began to thrash, making it necessary for them to try to hold him down without hurting him further.

"Roy, it's OK. Everything is gonna be alright, but you gotta calm down." Johnny tried to get through to him. It wasn't working. Roy's panic just kept on rising. "Roy, relax, now. Come on. This isn't doing you any good."

Then, as fast as it started, he ran out of steam. He was fading fast. "Johnny . . . gotta gun. Shot me. Gun . . . Johnny . . . shot me."

With that, Roy slipped into unconsciousness.

A/N: Sorry this took so long to post. I must have rewritten it maybe ten times. Thanks for your patience.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

John stared at Roy, his mouth hanging open. Something about the way Roy had spoken resonated through him and wouldn't let go.

"Johnny, what do you need?" a voice asked at his shoulder. It was Davis from 36s.

"Huh?" John glanced up at the red haired paramedic. When had he gotten there. "Uh … Rampart wants another set of vitals," he managed and reached for Roy's wrist. He pretended not to notice that his hand was trembling.

"Why don't you let me take care of that?" Davis suggested in a reasoning tone. "Then, once Tom's done with our other patient, Cap, here wants us to take a look at you, make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." John dismissed the suggestion.

"I insist." Stanley stooped at his side.

"But, Cap." John shot a pleading look in his direction. "I need to …."

"Come away, John." The look in Stanley's eyes left no room for argument.

Johnny frowned, but relayed the instructions that he'd already received from Rampart and turned over the MICU forms. Then he reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn to his feet and way from Roy's side.

_Gun . . . Johnny . . . shot me . . . ._

He flinched as Roy's words echoed back through him.

He must have made a sound.

"You okay, there, Pal?" Cap was right there beside him, half bent in his direction.

"Cap? What happened?" Johnny needed to know. "Who shot Roy?" His focus never left his best friend as he watched Davis and the attendants place him on the stretcher.

Hank sighed. "We don't know, yet. We were hoping that between you and Roy we could get to the bottom of it."

A lead weight settled in the pit of John's stomach. "You don't know?" How could they not know who shot him? He could he, John Gage, not know who had shot his best friend? What the hell had happened?

"I … I don't . . . ."

Stanley rested a soothing hand on his shoulder. "I know, John. It's obvious you've got a head injury. In fact, I'm amazed you were able to do what you did do for Roy considering your own condition."

John wanted to be comforted and encouraged, but there was something nibbling away at the back of his mind. Something bad. He could feel it. If only he could . . . .

Out of nowhere the image of a gun flashed in Johnny's mind. The memory was so vivid that he could feel its weight against his palm, re-experienced the sense of anger and fear that had welled within him as he held it. Then just as quickly as it had come, the almost-memory was gone.

"Cap . . . ." Johnny couldn't seem to catch his breath. "Cap . . . I-I remember . . . I had a gun . . . w-was angry . . . ."

Hank seemed to grow very still. "What are you saying, John?"

"I . . . I . . . ."

His eyes closed as another, stronger, memory washed over him.

_Squad 51, what is your status?_

_The tinny words sounded broken and distant. Somewhere in the corners of his mind, he knew they were important. But fog enveloped his world and their meaning drifted away._

_Squad 51, L.A. Do you copy?_

_The words, though louder, still didn't register in a coherent way. Other sounds and sensations began to filter in. Chief among them was pressure. _

_Something hard was jammed against his left arm which was also trapped beneath his upper body. He drew in a deeper breath and discovered smell. The scent was of vinyl, smoke and something else that he was having trouble identifying – the side of his face was pressed against it. _

_Smell and sound came together in a flash of clarity. He was sprawled face down, half across the seat of the squad and something was wrong. Very wrong. The third smell was blood. _

_He jerked, intending to move. The inadvisability of that action was made abundantly clear by the pain that slammed into him. His head, neck, back and side all clamored for attention. He might have gasped, whimpered, or maybe it was a moan, he couldn't be too sure as every ounce of energy was going into getting a handle on the pain before his stomach rebelled and added something else to the seat. Everything went hazy again. _

"Checking out the scene …"

_The muted voices brought him back from the edge again. He thought he made out the crackle of a dispatcher's response. With a careful breath, he squinted open his eyes. Darkness coalesced into the sight of the squad's radio. He frowned as he registered the fact that it was nighttime. _

_What happened? What was he doing here, in the squad like this? He could feel that the passenger side door was open and his legs were hanging half out of the cab. The cool air raised gooseflesh on his bare arms. Not knowing what brought him to this moment sent a chill down his spine. And where the heck was his partner?_

"Someone's inside …" a voice murmured in a low tone.

_Gathering his strength, he decided it was time to get some answers. Moving much more slowly, he pushed himself upward and rolled himself over. His hand brushed over something hard lying on the seat. The HT? Maybe he could try to call – no wait, that won't … _

"_Are you okay in there?" a voice asked, interrupting his disjointed musings. He sat up into the brilliant beam of a flashlight. _

_Piercing pain shot through his temples, ramping his discomfort back up to nausea-inducing levels. He raised his hands in a desperate attempt to block even some of the brightness. _

"_Freeze! Don't move!" _

"_Wha…?" He didn't understand, and what was worse, he was pretty sure he was going to throw up – already he could feel his mouth watering and his stomach churning. A confusion of sounds occurred then, one of them stood out. _

"_Drop the gun. Now!" _

_He blinked. Gun? What gun? And then he realized that he still held the HT. He managed to turn a confused gaze on his left hand. He wasn't holding a handie talkie. His fingers were clasped around the dull black surface of a hand gun. _

_He lost his grip on the weapon at the same moment he lost control of his stomach. _

Johnny blinked dazedly, willing the memory to clear. The world only wavered further out of focus, before graying out altogether.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six**

Hank barely managed to catch John before he went down. One moment the younger man was practically hyperventilating, words tumbling out his head faster than his mouth could process them, the next the words petered out and his eyes glazed over.

For a brief moment, John's eyes cleared as his gaze locked on Hank's. The hand full of words that passed across the paramedic's lips tilted the captain's world on its side. And so when John dropped like his strings had been cut, Hank was ill-prepared and poorly positioned to catch him.

"Need some help!" he managed to get out before Kelly was right there with him, helping to ease John to the ground.

"LA, Engine 51. Respond another ambulance to this location." Hank mentally kicked himself for not having done that sooner. He should have known that it would be needed the second he saw John's disorientation in the backseat of that police car.

And now things were just so much worse than he thought possible. Had John really said what Hank thought he'd said?

_Cap, I . . . I . . . shot Roy._

"What happened?" Chet's question snapped Hank back from his stunned musing.

Hank didn't know how to begin to answer the question Chet asked, or the one that was rolling around in his own head. He simply looked on as Chet slid his turnout coat beneath John's head and upper body to protect him from the rocky surface.

_Rocks are the least of your worries, my friend. _

"I don't know, Kelly," Hank finally said. He ran a hand over his face and up through his hair. Man, he was tired. Exhausted.

"You think he's going to be okay?" Chet looked at Hank as if he could answer to that question, too.

"Let me get in there and get some vitals." Davis squeezed in beside Chet, saving Hank from having to try to come up with a response.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Davis asked as he checked John's eyes, before moving on to his respirations.

Hank told him what he knew, which wasn't much, and watched as the ambulance carrying Roy, the rookie cop and Davis' partner set of into the night, lights flashing.

Standing several feet away, between where the ambulance had been parked and where Davis was working on John stood Officer Blake. Just the sight of him filled Hank with a sense of impending doom.

Blake beckoned him with a jerk of his head, then turned and moved several paces farther apart from the group.

"Take good care of him," Hank murmured to Davis, and then clapped Chet on the shoulder before he stood to follow the uniformed officer.

"I heard most of your conversation," Blake informed him. "I heard him tell you that he remembered having the gun."

Hank felt himself going cold with dread. He had forgotten the man was there once John had started checking out Roy. His concern had only been the well-being of his men and ensuring that their victims were adequately cared for. Gage had pulled that off with his usual finesse.

He glanced back toward where the young man in question lay, still and defenseless beneath Davis' ministrations. "Yeah?" he prompted the officer to continue. He knew that there had to be more, that there wasn't anything he could do to avoid it.

"I also heard what he said there at the end, just before he passed out."

Hank stared at the other man for a long moment, wondering what he could do to mitigate the damage. Finally, "He was going out. I don't think even he knew what he was saying."

Blake nodded, apparently expecting that. "I have a responsibility here. There are rules that have to be followed."

"John Gage and Roy DeSoto are the best of friends. They might argue and have spats, but it would never go this far. John Gage is not a man who could do something like this . . . to anyone." As he said the words, Hank realized just how much he believed them. He did know John, and he did know Roy. He felt the truth of his statement in his bones.

"I understand where you're coming from Captain Stanley. I do. But I would be remiss in my duty and I wouldn't be doing anyone any favors by letting what he said pass by."

"He's had a head injury. He's confused. He might not remember any of this." Hank was grasping at straws and he knew it, but he had to do something. The last thing John needed was for his own (no doubt misplaced) guilt to be reinforced. "You should talk to the doctor's at the hospital first to make sure that he can even -"

Blake held up a hand. "Tell you what: I'll wait until he's in the rig before I put the cuffs on him. I'll follow the ambulance to the hospital and then we'll see how it goes. That's the best I can do in consideration for how kind he was to my rookie."

Hank nodded. That was John, alright. Always kind to the patients. "Okay," he said. He couldn't bring himself to thank the man for what his actions were going to do to one of his men. Another thought occurred to him. "Are you going to need us to leave the squad here?"

"You taking it back to your station?" Blake asked.

"That's what we'd normally do. If necessary, headquarters will send over a spare."

"I think I have everything for my report. The investigators will know where to find it if they need it."

The approach of the second ambulance ended the conversation and the two men parted. Blake returned to his silent perusal of the scene; Hank to trying to figure out a way to be there for both Roy and John.

"Marco'll bring your squad in," he told Davis, with a nod toward his lineman.

"Okay, Cap," Marco acknowledged and immediately got to his feet and headed off.

"Thanks," Davis responded in both their general directions, sparing the briefest glance away from his unconscious patient. An IV had been started, and Davis was tucking it beneath John's shoulder just before they started rolling the stretcher toward the ambulance.

Chet was on Davis' heels, jockeying for a way to help get John loaded. Officer Blake was moving ominously alongside them. Chet threw the man a curious look, but kept moving with the group.

"Kelly, you bring in our squad," Hank called him away before speaking into the handie talkie.

"LA, Engine 51, 10-8 to Rampart." That left just him and Stoker in the engine.

Chet, being Chet, didn't come when called. He stood there staring in shock as Blake climbed up into the ambulance after removing something from the leather holder at his waist.

Cap's vantage didn't allow him to see what was happening inside the ambulance. But he didn't need to see it to know what was happening.

"Kelly!"

Chet turned bewildered eyes on him. For once, speechless.

"Bring in the squad. We'll meet at Rampart." He spoke more softly this time, and watched as Chet's features hardened before he spun away toward the squad.

Hank sighed. The questions, he knew, would come later. "Let's go, Michael," he told his engineer and they turned and headed for the engine. The sooner they got to Rampart, the sooner he could talk to the docs and try to figure a way out of this mess.

"Cap!"

Hank stepped back down off of the engine at Chet's call. "What is it?" he called They needed to move. The ambulance and patrol car were already rolling out.

"Where are the keys?"

Hank stared at the man. Now it was his turn to be speechless.


End file.
